


Draco Malfoy and the Heir of Slytherin

by xEdoru



Series: Who needs a redemption arc when you can rewrite history? [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Gen, Redemption, Slow Burn, Time Travel, ptsd mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29469582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xEdoru/pseuds/xEdoru
Summary: He guiltily wished someone could step in, alter the future for him so that he’d never have to rise up to the insurmountable task himself. Examining his future mistakes over and over, trying to pinpoint clues and significant moments, now that he had the opportunity to link cause and effect… he hated how little he liked what he saw.Did Draco Malfoy find himself in an inexplicable time travel situation? Yes. Did he currently have no idea how to fix it? Yes. Did he want to make a change this time?  Also yes.Last year he decided to try his best to turn the tides of war he knew was coming soon, and he’s ready to put his whole heart into it, or so the hopes. Will the methods Draco chooses get him the results he wants or bring more pain and chaos?
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), they're still only twelve
Series: Who needs a redemption arc when you can rewrite history? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025227
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

There was a boy, short, pale and petulant, scowling back at him in the mirror. He still found it difficult to believe it was his own reflection, even a year down the road. Draco wasn’t meant to be twelve right now. It wasn’t right for him to stand there, knowing about the future, to be aware of all the pain and tragedy that was to come. It was discomforting to realise he was slowly forgetting what he felt and looked like before being thrust into this situation. He spent so much time looking for a solution, but all he had to show for it were countless methods that couldn’t bring him back to where he came from. Draco didn’t want to admit it, but he was slowly settling into this body and time, despite trying to hang onto his memories.

He guiltily wished someone could step in, alter the future for him so that he’d never have to rise up to the insurmountable task himself. Examining his future mistakes over and over, trying to pinpoint clues and significant moments, now that he had the opportunity to link cause and effect… he hated how little he liked what he saw. After all those years of acting pathetic and weak, he wondered if he ever had the wit or ambition of Slytherin. The way he still shook in fear of what he saw back then seemed more like a Hufflepuff sort of behaviour. He pulled at his sleeve in frustration.

“Do I need to magically unstick you from your reflection?” Pansy disrupted his self-pitying train of thought. “Honestly, and I thought Blaise Zabini was the one obsessed with his looks.”

Draco looked up at her reflection. She was sprawled out on an armchair, with inelegance her older self would dread to show to an audience. However, Draco was hardly a stranger, even now - she had seen him at many highs and lows whilst growing up together. If he decided to use any childhood stories against her, it could only result in a certain, mutually assured destruction.

“Well I’m handsome enough to be a little self-absorbed, aren’t I?” He drawled with a grin, pretending to guide a stray strand of hair back into place.

“Uh, sure, whatever you say, but come down to earth already. I’m bored!”

He turned around, now getting to see the rest of his room more clearly. Books that were previously piled up on a side table were strewn on the floor around his friend - none of them seemed to capture her attention for long before she moved on. Pansy was never subdued enough to learn alone without sufficient motivation, he recalled in mild amusement. Once, after nearly half an hour of complaining about O.W.Ls revision, she spilled the secret behind her biggest incentive - she found it incredibly fun to later show off her knowledge in a study group. Well, Draco refused to spend his July encouraging her.

“Just because you’re technically my guest doesn’t mean I have to endlessly amuse you, Parkinson. Don’t treat me like some court jester.”

“If you don’t want to be treated like one, then stop being a joke. And please stop frowning so much. It’s the summer holidays, you should be happy!”

It was easy for her to say. Despite looking like a child, his worries and experiences from the war hadn’t regressed along with his body to fit the timeline. As far as his research told him, regular time travel magic didn’t change the body of the traveller. Was it really absolutely necessary for him to go through puberty again just to have a chance at preventing a second war?

“I’d be happy to grow even an inch,” he lamented. “If I didn’t ruin a set of school robes getting involved with Gryffindors, I wouldn’t even need to get new ones.”

“That’s true,” she stood up and strode over to stand next to him. “Oh look! _I’ve_ grown taller. Soon enough I’ll be towering over you.”

“You’re nothing but a show off. None of the boys have grown much, either, so I’m the normal one here. Not my fault you decided to turn into a giraffe.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just shrinking?” She slowly rose onto tiptoes, miming surprise at his diminishing height. In three strides he crossed the room, grabbed a pillow, and threw it in her face.

“Cow!”

“Ponce!”

“Bint.”

“Ninny.”

“Trollop.”

They went back and forth, throwing pillows and crumpled balls of parchment. Pansy ducked behind his bed and emerged equipped with his slippers as new weapons. A pillow he charmed aimed a wide swing at her back and knocked her face first onto the the duvet. She threw a slipper without looking up, narrowly missing an ornate candelabra, which twisted out of the way at the last moment.

“Oh, bugger off you minikin. Go fight with someone your own size! Like a toothpick or a house elf, maybe.” She huffed as she wrestled with the charmed pillow.

“What are you, five?” He laughed.

“Yes. Five whole inches taller than you!” He barely dodged the second slipper, which hit with so much force it bounced off the wall and slammed into the mirror. It wobbled a little, and tilted down, but remained standing. Pansy had the decency to look sheepish, and held up her hands in defeat. Draco dropped his spell.

“Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you.” He felt a little out of breath.

“Well someone has to tell you what you’re like, and the others don’t want you getting mad at them.”

“But you don’t care?”

“I just know you love me and my attitude.” Pansy said with a wicked grin. She wasn’t wrong, Draco did appreciate her friendship, especially now that he experienced betrayal from other friends after their sixth year. She always supported him, despite complaints.

“I won’t confirm or deny that… but you should be careful about whose boundaries you push, or you’ll regret it someday. It’s all fun and games being mean until everyone starts avoiding you.” He meant it in jest and not as a threat, but Pansy looked surprised and stuck in thought for a moment. Then her eyes hardened as she spoke.

“Everyone else is too worried to bother you right now, in case you’ll ruin their parents’ position with your dad.”

That gave him pause.

“What’s special about now?” He hadn’t noticed anything unusual happening until then.

“There’s something going on at the Ministry, and we all know your dad’s got a lot of connections to stall whatever it is.”

“I haven’t heard him say anything, but we haven’t spoken much.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re just studying over summer.” She rolled her eyes.

“Not as much as I’d like, it’s been busy.”

He didn’t see a problem in studying in his free time. He used to do it in the past, although not nearly as diligently, and usually had to have a strong incentive to learn about anything he found boring. Now, he had a few good sources of motivation to keep him going. They both sat down in the armchairs, flushed from the excitement and exertion of their pillow fight. Pansy remained unusually quiet, her brow furrowed in concentration. Draco took the moment of silence to look out of the window. Curiously enough, he saw their albino peacocks - his father’s pride and joy - more leap than fly up onto the tall hedge lining the walkway between the iron gates and the front door of the Manor. With their long tails and stretched out wings, they reminded him of dragons.

He briefly wondered how little Norbert was fairing in Romania. The baby dragon must have grown quite large by now.

“That’s right, your trip to France! What did you do? Tell me everything!” Pansy exclaimed, suddenly.

“Everything?” He considered into just how long of a story he could stretch the few days abroad.

“To the tiniest detail, so I can pretend I was there, too. You really should’ve written all about it to me by now.”

In all honesty, his family trip to France wasn’t nearly as exciting as Pansy hoped for. Draco glossed over the journey by Portkey, set to depart entirely too early in his opinion, and in just as many words painted a picture of their accommodations. Living in the Malfoy Manor made most places pale in comparison.

“It really was no fun this year, you would’ve been bored out of your mind. I know I was! Father was very busy the whole time, and I couldn’t use magic at all,” he complained.

“You must’ve done _something_ …”

“Well, Mother and I did tour the school there, but that was it. We missed the Veela ballet, only visited Place Cachée briefly… I didn’t even have much of a chance to spend any of the Bezants I had left from our last trip. Merlin, they wouldn’t let me go to a bookshop alone!” He sneered. The last one stung the most, since Draco hoped to find some books on time travel that weren’t easily found in England. “I snuck out once, of course, but it’s near impossible to get to from the Muggle side. I even had to ask some Muggles for directions to get back. They were extremely rude! One of them asked if I was spinning a ‘vidéoclip’, whatever that means, because of my robes-“

“That’s more your fault for not wearing muggle clothes like you should, isn’t it?” Pansy teased.

“Why would I want to look like them ?” He complained.

She looked at the door, checking for Draco’s parents in the doorway. Finding it clear, she whispered excitedly.

“One of my cousins showed me a Muggle clothing magazine. Did you know their pictures don’t move? How bizarre, and so inconvenient! How can you see the model from every direction if they don’t spin around?”

“I know.” He said, but his input wasn’t necessary, she continued on regardless.

“Anyway, I think some of their clothes look interesting. All the materials are nothing like what our robes are made of. Not to mention it all looks so wonderfully impractical without charms to make it light and comfortable.” Draco never noticed her this excited about something Muggle, he wondered whether it was a strange, random change to the timeline, or if she simply didn’t think he would react kindly to the secret before. “The Muggles I’ve seen in London never dress as fun as they do in the magazines, though.”

“I think the whole point of wearing muggle clothes is to blend in. Why would you stoop so low to wear them if you still stand out?” He didn’t see anything particularly appealing about the Muggle clothes he’d seen so far.

“Says the one who threw a tantrum when his mother said his favourite bright yellow robes were too small for him. You wore those everywhere, and I’m pretty certain they were dress robes. Or when you refused to come out of your room when I accidentally turned your hair brown,” she flashed a toothy grin, showing off the slight gap between her front teeth. “Don’t pretend you don’t like standing out, too.”

His cheeks grew warm.

“I was four! Why are you like this-“

“What, fantastic, talented, smart?”

“Out of three you got nil, so you’re about as accurate as usual.”

She scrunched her face in frustration. “Your lips are moving, but I’m not hearing anything. I’ll take accurate as a compliment, though.”

“If you’re that desperate for one, then go ahead.”

Pansy shook her head.

“How did you spend a whole week in France and not tan even a little.” She pulled back his sleeve and compared the complexions of their forearms. “I swear you’re more pale than you were at the end-of-year feast.”

“I’m always lighter than you are, and as I said, we didn’t get out much.”

“Your dad was really that busy?”

“Yes, but it might’ve been for the better. You wouldn’t believe how awkward it was after I told them about last term.”

“So they weren’t too enthusiastic about your Gryffindor-related antics?”

“Pansy, please. You think I willingly said anything about that? After I swore you all to secrecy? No, that I’m taking to the grave.”

“Oh.. was it the exams? I can’t believe it.”

“I think I pushed it too far last time, when I said Granger is my biggest academic rival. They haven’t forgotten it yet.” He fiddled with his sleeve, trying to flatten out the creases.

“It’s been since what, Christmas? And you beat her in some subjects, too.”

“But not all, and she bested me in some in turn. It’s hard for them to make peace with their sole heir merely being equal to a Muggleborn…” he scowled.

He had been a little frustrated that despite his effort to give the exams his all, he had barely matched Granger’s grades. She really was setting out to be the brightest witch of a generation. He did find his ambition to also be named the brightest wizard had reignited upon travelling back to a simpler time, but he knew there were other things to worry about before exams season came along again.

“Their opinion doesn’t matter as long as you’re alright with how you did. Are you?”

“Yes, I am. It’s given me some things to consider.”

“What do you mean?”

Test scores were hardly the only reason to make him doubt, but either way Draco was stumbling into increasingly more inexplicable statements when it came to blood purity. He was slowly beginning to come to terms with finding the answers his parents and whole pure-blood society gave to be lacking. Perhaps there really weren’t any significant differences between Muggleborns and other witches and wizards. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t sure how to express these thoughts without ending up ostracised as a blood traitor. He knew he would have to figure out how to bring it up to his parents eventually, if he continued on against the Dark Lord.

“That I should’ve gone to Beauxbatons instead. No Gryffindors, no Dumbledore, no crazy, life-threatening mysteries to solve. Imagine how much better my grades would be then.” He joked instead of breaching the topic.

She laughed. They both knew he would sooner end up in the cold and severe Durmstrang, since the French were much too lax on pure-blood traditions for his parents’ comfort.

“The whole school looks much more dignified, there are so many more students, and they have some world-renowned alumni.” He rattled off what he remembered from tour. “You know, we have distant relations living in a chateau in Normandy. I could’ve been admitted, too, I bet…”

“You’re certainly pretty enough to go there.” She mocked.

Hoping to avoid more teasing, and with the well of experiences in France to draw from running dry, Draco changed the topic back to England.

“So, what have I missed, what’s everyone worried about?”

“The Ministry is acting up, apparently. They’ve got some new plan cooked up by some low-grade Ministry guy, looking for magical objects, especially Dark magic.”

“Who’s been targeted so far?”

“The Rosiers and the Burzynskis. Perun and Morana said it was humiliating - their family haven’t even been around for the war! The Ministry must have thought they brought some things over when they immigrated, or something. I know your dad’s been putting pressure on the Ministry to stop them, but everyone’s on edge.” It was obvious she was angry on her friend’s behalf for having her house raided. He didn’t ask whether they found anything there. If they did, he didn’t want to know. She took a deep, calming breath and continued.

“I don’t really see the issue in having some Dark items here and there, as long as we don’t use them. You can do just as much damage with a pair of self-knitting needles. Apparently some Muggle almost died because of a cursed kettle, and that’s why they’re all up in arms about it.”

There was a degree of truth to her statement. Not only were any magical artefacts equally in breach of the Statute of Secrecy as far as the Ministry was concerned, even everyday enchantments could pose a real threat to Muggles, who couldn’t control the items. Yet Dark and cursed objects were often far more lethal, and more likely to be weaponised. He knew it from experience. Lost in thought about these raids, he suddenly remembered that summer’s visit to Borgin and Burke’s with his father, who was trying to sell something to them. He couldn’t believe he forgot about the shop which weighed down on him for a whole year. If he didn’t see the cursed vanishing cabinet in it again it would still be a day too soon.

⋆⋆⋆

Paying closer attention to his parents ever since Pansy left that day, he quickly noticed some tension, which he previously dismissed as disappointment with him. While caught up both with trying to revert his condition and thinking far ahead, he accidentally forgot to pay attention to the present. Now that he was more aware, and remembered about those raids, he’d have to be blind to not see that something was up. Draco had to find out more, in case there were other things he forgot, or was too busy playing around to hear about in the first place. Maybe there were clues to find about stopping the Dark Lord, especially if these magical objects and raids were involved somehow.

It was difficult finding his parents together during the daytime, besides mealtimes. His father was often out, doing what Draco now knew was more serious than paying simple, friendly visits to his acquaintances in the Ministry. His mother, in turn, rarely left him alone. They studied together, and looked after plants in the greenhouse when she had the time. Everything carried on as normal, until almost a week had passed.

It was a gloomy morning, and when his father mentioned he would be staying home that day at breakfast, Draco quickly claimed he planned to make use of the heavy summer rain to get some reading done in the library. He made sure to leave the door ajar, and cast a sound amplifying charm that older Slytherins always used during common room parties. He would know it if his parents did anything to disturb the silence in nearby rooms. A couple hours later he heard the sound of his father’s footsteps stutter across the hallway, and diminish as he walked to the drawing room. Distant sounds of a conversation between his parents reached him, and he bolted up, hoping something would come of his wait.

Draco tiptoed to the drawing room door to eavesdrop, earning himself a conspiratorial wink from Septimus Malfoy’s portrait.

“- telling you those blood traitors don’t know their place. They’ve been sticking their noses where they don’t belong far too long.” Lucius’ voice felt thunderous despite being only as loud as usual.

Narcissa must have nodded in agreement, because he resumed the tirade.

“That Weasley’s grasping onto whatever perks came with his kid becoming a lackey of the Boy Who Lived. He’s getting too cocky for my liking, trying to change how the Ministry has always operated.”

He somewhat regretted telling his parents about the Philosopher’s Stone and the Gryffindors’ involvement in the whole affair, but it was very likely they would’ve heard the gossip through another students’ parents. Not only that, since Draco rarely hid anything from them, they would become suspicious of him, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted or mistrusted. So he carefully omitted his involvement and asked his friends to keep it quiet, too. They understood, thankfully, even though most of them were probably convinced he was only ashamed of his connection to blood traitors and Muggleborns. Whatever their reasons, Draco appreciated their confidence.

“How could some petty criminals and wizards playing pranks on Muggles have anything to do with us? Are you afraid they’ll come knocking, Lucius?”

“Some miscreants pilfered from the Rookwood family home. Their protective wards must have been exceptionally poor, to give out in only eleven years.” He scoffed. “Now that some Muggles got their claws on their heirlooms, and suffered the consequences, the Ministry thinks it wise to ensure no other family can leave such items behind. There’s talk of a strict Muggle Protection Act.”

“Have they begun visiting our acquaintances?” She asked, worried.

“Some, but the Aurors and office monkeys know better than to go after the honourable houses and their associates. For now.”

“I heard there’s been some tension with experimental charms, too. Could you believe that they expect you to obtain permits to cast magic in your own home? Preposterous.”

“The Ministry has every one of these fools dancing to their tune, with nothing more than mere bureaucracy. There’s no honour or respect for advancement of the magical Arts anymore. They’d sooner see us all turn into Squibs.”

Draco knew they had many objects that would be considered dangerous to Muggles in the Manor, he heard stories of them from a young age, to discourage him from ever reaching for them while playing around. His family was always very proud of their animosity towards anything non-magical, despite quite a portion of their wealth coming from business with Muggles before the Statute of Secrecy was put in place.

They fell quiet. He turned around and took a few steps back, afraid of getting caught, when he heard his mother’s faint murmur.

“We best keep this from Draco. I don’t want him scared of these leeches all summer.”

“Do you really believe he’s noticed anything with his nose stuck in the books?” He wasn’t exactly wrong, Draco wouldn’t have noticed anything yet if it weren’t for Pansy. “Rightfully so, I might add, since he can’t even beat a filthy mudblood-“

“Lucius.” She cut in with a warning tone, bringing his father back on track. He cleared his throat.

“Alright… I agree, but what do you suggest?”

“… While I’d rather have some peace at home, we should invite his friends over more often. They’ll undoubtedly keep him occupied.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to have something to publish again. I've been working on the second book without having anything ready to post for too long!
> 
> As for the French: I haven’t practiced it in a while, but I think 'tourner' - 'to turn/spin' is used to mean shoot, when talking about music videos. Since Draco wouldn’t know what a video is, I feel like he would have gone for the simplest translation of the verb. As always with my foreign languages please feel free to correct me when I’m wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something to be said about how much pressure there was in stepping out of one’s comfort zone, and trying to inspire others to follow. Draco didn’t enjoy feeling compelled to stick out his nose from the easy status quo. Unfortunately, he knew there was no other person his friends knew, who could make a path for them to follow, to join the better side.  
> And some juicy gossip.

As his parents expected, there were many distractions drawing Draco’s attention away from their affairs. He couldn’t remember the last time the Manor was bustling with as much life, or visited as often. Death Eaters and prisoners not included - they couldn’t count for anything in comparison to the swarm of energetic twelve year olds, anyhow. Crabbe and Goyle gladly brought their brooms with them, and quickly got the other Slytherins on board. When they ended up playing four-a-side Quidditch, even Pansy joined in.

Being up in the air - dodging, racing, chasing the Snitch - gave Draco a rush like nothing else. Would his father try to buy his way onto the team once more, he wondered. Only, he surprised himself when he realised he didn’t want that. Draco really did want to prove himself a better player than whoever he replaced last time. He had been too afraid of failure before, and if he was honest with himself now, he still worried about not making the team without help again. It would be too embarrassing to fail at something he cared about. Quidditch was the highlight of his school life, after all. No, even if his father offered to ‘invest’ in Draco’s future, he decided he wouldn’t have it. He would just have to make the team on his own merits. And to do that, he had to train. Whilst he retained more than enough game sense from the years of play, his twelve year old body’s physical ability certainly had to catch up.

So, in solidarity with his cause, they all practiced. He led them through drills he could remember, from simply racing across the field, to spirals and twists, to Quaffle passing in attack formations. His friends didn’t mind getting bossed around by him, for once no one even made a joke. Draco realised he rarely had been so open about a weakness he had to work on. Crabbe and Goyle predictably jumped on the opportunity to hit something with a bat, and since they usually only had enough players for one beater per team, they all ended up leaving the Manor grounds with a lot of bruises. It wasn’t only because protecting the team alone posed a challenge - they got so competitive at times that they would just hit players on the opposite team with the bat to rack up a more impressive ‘hit count’.

Draco felt especially glad he didn’t ever want to be keeper, when Morana Burzynska and Millicent Bulstrode tag-teamed Theodore Nott. He almost fell off his broom from the impact of their onslaught of powerful curve balls. Those girls were scary, but impressive.

Once he settled into his diminished body and built up a bit of endurance, Draco found that his biggest problems were concentration and fear. He always found it difficult to stop paying attention to the rest of the team to focus only on the Snitch. After all, Quidditch was a dangerous game to play, between racing brooms, the height, and Bludgers, it was important to keep an eye on the surroundings, to an extent. In his case, it became a barrier that stopped him from committing fully to the catch. It was quite bizarre, he thought, how he still flinched at the chance of a broken bone or sprained wrist after spending two years terrified of death and torture.

To break the habit, they decided to have him practice the most dangerous seeker techniques they could think of. As long as he didn’t get very hurt, they wouldn’t have to alert his parents, not with a House Elf ready to help patch up minor injuries. Surprisingly, Draco found that he didn’t mind them seeing him struggle, at least not as much as he used to. When he finally managed to catch the Snitch while diving off his broom and landing with a forward roll, his friends cheered without a hint of sarcasm.

“You’re definitely going to make the team if you show them those catches.” Theodore said, as they sat by the fountain. It was the closest place with seating and offering some shadow to protect them from harsh sunlight. Crabbe and Goyle parroted their agreement, although they were still distracted, preening about Draco’s suggestion that they would make fair Beaters earlier that day. Pansy and Daphne weren’t listening at all - they were too busy splashing the water around, at least until they caught Perun with a few drops on his face. His stormy glare made them a little too apprehensive about possible retaliation to keep going, at least for the time being.

“It’s about time! The team could use an update or two to deal with Potter.” He commented.

“Is there any point? Surely Draco will just let his new _best friend_ win. Didn’t he use to be obsessed with Potter way before we started school?” Draco wanted to push Daphne into the fountain or sic the peacocks on her for bringing up that mortifying part of his childhood.

“Oh yes, I remember! It was borderline hero-worship! Not that you’re not still obsessed,” Pansy cackled. “You said you’d make him your friend on the first day, and… What was it again? Rule the-”

He did push Pansy just to shut her up, though she caught herself before falling into the water. With how much damage Daphne already did with splashing, it wouldn’t have made that much of a difference if she did fall in, anyway.

“Even _if_ I did - and that’s a big ‘if’ - it’s only because I imagined he’d be more impressive.”

Draco stuck his nose up in distaste. It was the truth, after all. They all grew up hearing stories about this powerful child (barely a year old!) who singlehandedly defeated the Dark Lord, and wild speculation about all the incredible things he was doing long before school even began. All of it false, of course, but it was easy to get swept up into the craze. In the end, Draco reasoned, Potter did end up doing all sorts of impossible things. He wasn’t sure whether it made getting his friendship turned down twice better or worse. He didn’t even try to offer it this time around.

“That’s true, my dad said he might be a more powerful successor to the Dark Lord. It’s hard to believe.... He’s just so average.” Theodore said.

“See, Theodore understands. Can you imagine that clot with nothing but a Snitch between his ears being a powerful, genius Dark wizard?”

“Isn’t it just more embarrassing if you’re spending time with him and his friends despite that, then?” He regretted pushing Pansy then. She didn’t keep quiet, she just got meaner.

“Maybe he’s in love with Granger.” Suggested Bulstrode.

“ _Ooh_ a forbidden romance!” Most of his friends squealed or giggled as he rolled his eyes.

It was around second year, he now remembered, that most of the students started developing an interest in romance - or more specifically gossip about it. He remembered how even Crabbe and Goyle, who were usually disinterested in anything other than food or quidditch, got invested in drama about a fourth year Slytherin girl sneaking out to the Ravenclaw tower to see her girlfriend. They got caught once by Flitwick, but apparently he let them off with only a warning. Daphne and Pansy - their biggest sources of all gossip - said he seemed more impressed at how she answered the riddle correctly to get into the tower, and apparently made them more difficult from then on. But him and Hermione Granger? There was no chance of that - he’d sooner date Potter and that was saying something!

“And have to look at her beaver teeth and incredibly dry hair every day? Give me the troll from Halloween instead.” He smirked.

“I don’t know… She’s sort of endearing, isn’t she?” Daphne interjected the booming laughter of the others.

“Do you have something to share with the group, Greengrass? What’s the appeal?”

“Well, her intellect for one. And it’s about the contrast, don’t you know? You’re so pale it pairs well, visually. Like when Blaise hangs off you, you just match.”

Draco felt his cheeks colour at the idea. Sure, Zabini teased him a lot and loved to get into everyone’s personal space, but there wasn’t anything between them, other than friendship. There never had been, that was how they operated - in fact, Draco only recently thought of them more than acquaintances. Although, he had to admit he could remember Blaise settling into his height and prominent cheekbones remarkably well by fifth year. More than enough to make up for his vanity, and get quite a few students to drag him out on dates every Hogsmeade weekend. Her point still didn’t sit well with him.

“You can’t seriously be attracted to someone’s skin, that’s creepy.”

“I’m not! Forget it… And anyway it’s all in the eyes, they’re the window to the soul.” When Crabbe and Goyle mock-gagged in response Draco almost joined them.

“You’ve been reading too many of Parkinson’s magazines and silly love stories,” he teased, instead.

“Just the poetry, I wish someone liked me enough to write about me. How romantic!” Daphne insisted.

“Well, you never know what will happen,” Draco remembered Lockhart’s dwarven ‘cupids’ for Valentine’s Day reciting awful poetry all around the school. He hoped that part of the year wouldn’t change - he rather enjoyed witnessing the other students’ humiliation, and got a lot of good material for mockery out of the performances, especially for Potter and his Weasley girlfriend.

“Then Daphne can write one for Granger!” Pansy joked. “Unless you really would be jealous, Draco?“ He pretended to think for a moment.

“You can have her all to yourself,” he joined in on the fun, “but I have a feeling you’d have to give up your gossip mill.”

“In that case… absolutely _no way_ , nobody’s worth that kind of sacrifice!” Daphne joined in with their laughter, but punished them all with a splash of fountain water.

⋆⋆⋆

In more quiet moments he wondered back to the question. Why did he want to spend time with the Gryffindors? In short, he didn’t. It just seemed to work out that way more than a few times last year, aside from him actively trying to keep them from getting too hurt. He supposed Longbottom was alright to talk to, from time to time. And granted, Granger was a tolerable study partner - she kept quiet and they managed to ask each other subject-related questions without animosity. He still didn’t want to be her friend - Draco had plenty of his own. Weasley and Potter on the other hand… well, at least Weasley was funny sometimes, and played chess much better than anyone else he knew. Potter had the tendency to enrage Draco with how things worked out for him, despite his mediocrity. Not only that, he simultaneously managed to make Draco pity him about how much he had gone through in the second war. What he’d have to experience again, if Draco didn’t stop it in time. He sometimes entertained himself with the idea that after he stopped the Dark Lord from coming back, he could hate and belittle Potter to his heart’s content with no guilt whatsoever.

There was something to be said about how much pressure there was in stepping out of one’s comfort zone, and trying to inspire others to follow. Draco didn’t enjoy feeling compelled to stick out his nose from the easy status quo. He probably was just that unfeeling, so unrepentant and selfish that if he knew his family would thrive supporting the Dark Lord, as they did in the past, he would have tried to help Him win. At least, his father’s stories of the early successes of the Death Eaters in the first war sounded more appealing than the reality Draco lived. But that was then, and it definitely didn’t stay around long enough for Draco to experience himself. Unfortunately, he knew there was no other person his friends knew, who could make a path for them to follow, to join the better side.

During another group visit they were caught by heavy summer rain, and had to stick to indoor activities. Crabbe brought a fanged frisbee he stole off a Hufflepuff first year, so when they tired of exploding snap and Gobstones, they threw the frisbee around in the ballroom, terrorising the paintings and windows. When even that got boring, they spread out on the floor in a conspiratorial circle. Draco wasn’t sure what brought them onto the topic, but somehow the politics of blood purity came up, it was probably Goyle, whose parents seemed to get rather vocal in response to the threat of another Muggle Protection Act. Draco's parents only invited pureblood Slytherins for him to play with, and almost all of their parents had some involvement in at least one of the wars. He couldn’t sit there, listening to Crabbe also join in, brainlessly parroting his father any longer.

“You know…” he cut in, silencing them almost immediately. “Ever since last Christmas, I’ve been thinking. I’m not certain I still believe that Muggleborns don’t belong in Hogwarts.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t a chorus of gasps, followed by silent, expressionless faces of his peers, with only their eyes moving from each other, trying to figure out if he’s joking.

“I’m entirely serious,” he clarified. He tried to steel his voice to carry the confidence he lacked in these sentiments. The only thing he was certain of was that talking about it, especially with the possible looming threat to Muggleborns and blood traitors, talking about his uncertainties was a choice for the good of others. One without a very direct gain for himself tied to it. Perhaps his first entirely voluntary one. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and nothing can explain in what way exactly we differ from them, aside from growing up around magic.”

“It’s just Granger messing you around, isn’t it?” Grumbled Bulstrode, the first one to cut through the thick silence. She tried to sound unalarmed, but her shoulders remained tense.

“Not at all. I suppose I’ve been spending time in the library around Granger as a sort of ‘keep my friends close but academic enemies closer’ situation, but frankly if you lot want to pretend we are better than them the least you can do is not be outperformed in every subject.”

“You know we could call you a blood traitor for this, don’t you? I’m certain my dad would.” Nott asked, and Draco wasn’t sure whether it was fear, anger or some other emotion he was holding back, but his face was dark.

“I don’t think I’m betraying anyone by simply thinking about what we’ve been taught. I don’t care for Muggles, but… We purebloods have hated Muggleborns for hundreds of years now, but no one has ever figured out why they get born with magic, aside from the possibility of our ancestors long ago living among Muggles just fine. And if you want to dispute that history, no one ever made a distinction between the strength, or source, or kind of magic we have,” he took a deep breath. They were paying attention. “The world is changing, and our families are going to die out in a few generations if we don’t change a little with it.”

“Unless you start looking abroad for marriage, at least.” Added Morana. Draco didn’t know much about Eastern Europe when it came to their way of life as witches and wizards, but he heard they didn’t even have a school of magic, or much in way of a Ministry. According to the twins, magic was much more strictly hidden on the Continent, simply because of how negatively the Muggles reacted to it there.

“You already should know, since I told you about the Philosopher’s Stone last year…” He continued trying to convince them in earnest. “Something big is coming, and we need to start thinking about these things before it’s too late to pick a side.”

“We can just stay out of it, like my family did before.” Daphne interrupted, her voice steady and manner-of-fact.

Their family somehow did manage to stay out of both wars, as far as Draco remembered, but it wasn’t something most of his friends’ families could easily do. Especially those whose parents were already sworn to the Dark Lord’s side. Draco was certain Voldemort would see neutrality as equal a betrayal as swapping sides, and more foolish without any protection from either side. He told her as much, seeing an embarrassed flush rising up her neck. The others looked a little pale now.

“I don’t think he cared about blood politics as much as power. Ah… at least from what I heard from father,” he quickly corrected himself, and continued with the one message he knew would stay on the Slytherins’ minds. “Do you really want to give up your choices and give him power over you?”

From their shocked faces he knew they took his words seriously, as he hoped they would. Can I trust you, he wanted to ask them. He craved reassurance, that they still thought the best of him. And that none of their parents would hear of his musings on blood purity before he could convince his parents to act against Voldemort, or at least to hide. He didn’t ask them, though - there was no point in voicing those fears, since he couldn’t trust their word even if they promised not to tell. He just had to hope it was a good choice to make, one that would eventually make a difference. Or at least that he could return to his old life, if it led to severe consequences in this one. In a way, it was easier to talk about the violence and fear brought by Voldemort than his own, conflicted views on Muggleborns.

“So... So you really think it was him last year, and that he’ll come back?” Pansy dropped her voice to a whisper.

“I don’t have any doubts about it. But, without help he isn’t as powerful as your parents told you. He’s just crafted some ways to survive, for now.“

“How can you be sure?” Theodore asked. Draco didn’t like the hint of disbelief in his tone.

“Because I saw him murder a unicorn and spend a whole year trying to get to the Philosopher’s Stone. Which has been destroyed! He’s desperate, grasping at straws. And if he gets back into power, he’ll just punish our families for not searching for him, and bringing him back for the past eleven years. Unless we stop him first.”

⋆⋆⋆

His father bolted out of the seat as soon as he read the letter clutched tightly in his hand. His morning cup of Earl Grey tea spilled across the table, startling the common barn owl that flew the letter in, before his mother or a House Elf could react and catch the teacup. Lucius didn’t even stop to reprimand the elf before rushing out from the dining room, and Narcissa went after him. Although his father took the message with him, before he could catch a glimpse of the writing, Draco knew it had to be important. He threw the crust of his toast to the disgruntled owl, and followed after his parents, quietly and carefully.

Across the hallway, ignoring curious stares from long dead ancestors, he went. Tiptoed into the drawing room just as his mother’s robe disappeared down another, dark corridor, and carried on creeping after them down a dimly lit staircase to the dungeon. He was so afraid to go anywhere near it back then, and not purely because of what horrors of his aunt’s sadistic tendencies he expected to see. He didn’t want to face the truth of the escalating atrocities he and his family enabled, couldn’t dare look into the eyes of their prisoners, knowing he was too cowardly to even dream of helping them. No. It was merely a simple cellar, for now. And if he stopped the Dark Lord’s return, it would never again be anything other than a cellar. Its stone walls were barely touched by the glow of a floating lantern Narcissa lit. Draco tried not to imagine scared and hurt faces of Ollivander, the Lovegoods, the Gringott’s Goblin… Not even Weasley or Potter. Instead, the room still held cabinets and shelves lined with dusty, old potion bottles, dangerously-gleaming jewels, and other Dark magic-laden family heirlooms. Draco wondered if some of the Muggle-made treasures his family acquired over the years were also stowed away, deeper in the room, but he couldn’t see too far in without getting caught. A lone painted figure stuck in silent despair locked eyes with him from within their ornate frame. They didn’t seem to recognise him like the other portraits in the Manor did, they didn’t even focus on Draco. More so they looked right through him. A shiver ran up his spine, bringing him back to the cold, dark cellar and to his purpose at the moment.

He remained on the stairs, trying to gather as much information as he could without getting caught. His father was pacing around, piling all items likely to be found illegal and dangerous to Muggles by the Ministry, while his mother gathered them into a small wooden chest with an extendable charm cast on it. It seemed they were prepared to react when a warning came. But his father didn’t stop there. He unlocked a hidden compartment within one of the console tables, and dismissed some wards with what Draco hoped was a non-verbal ‘finite incantatem’, although he couldn’t be sure whether the safety would be so easy to crack. At the very least his wand glowed with that same dull red beam. Carefully, he removed a small, black book and stuffed it into his pocket. It didn’t go in the box with the poisons and cursed trinkets. Draco could tell this book was special.

He wondered if the book was what his father failed to protect for the Dark Lord in the past. He remembered that fallout - it was one of the reasons he was Marked before completing school. What did he call it? The special weapon to end his work. It seemed rather unimpressive, considering it ruined his family’s standing, but many deadly magical items were unassuming. He wanted to take it, see for himself the power within. Perhaps even use it to change the future and end the war before it could begin.

He would have to wait for his father to leave it unsupervised again, he schemed on the careful way back to the breakfast table. Draco picked up his second slice of toast, which had gone cold, and soft with jam. He dropped it back onto the table, missing his plate entirely, with a disinterested huff, and pretended he had been reading a biography of a witch, who survived the Salem trials (they only covered British witch trials in History of Magic), and drinking tea while his parents were gone. As his mother sat back down, making a vague, but entirely believable excuse, Draco could have sworn he felt an inquiring push of Legilimency, but it passed just as quickly as it came. He’d decided not to worry about these attempts, since if they managed to get in, they would have figured out he travelled back in time - surely they wouldn’t keep it quiet. He had become a fair Occlumens during the war, since Aunt Bellatrix took it upon herself to teach him something useful, and he didn’t have the stomach for perfecting torture techniques.

The day passed, no raid in sight. His father spent a long time in his study, speaking to Theodore and Gregory’s fathers through the floo. He was certain he saw Lucius sneak back to the cellar in the evening. Meanwhile, Draco was glad to see the quiet tension betrayed in his mother’s impeccable posture slowly dissipate in the glow of the setting sun, as he gradually got the hang of a movement from one of her favourite minuets on the piano. They didn’t suspect that he knew anything.

⋆⋆⋆

The temperature regulating charms barely held out in the scorching summer sun, amplified by all the windows of the greenhouse. Draco wiped a bead of sweat off his brow before his friends could notice and berate him for suffering manual labour. There was no escaping it - this work could not be done with a simple spell. He gently parted the plant’s heavy, waxy leaves, taking care to avoid damaging the delicate pollen stems sticking more than an inch out of its golden buds. The smallest of the knives he used in Potions nestled in his slightly shaking hand. He should have asked his mother to help, but he couldn’t explain what he wanted to take a cutting for easily. She knew him too well, and he didn’t want to make a spectacle of something so small. With a steadying breath, he gently sank the blade into one of the plant’s stems and in a single, smooth motion a young branch was dislodged without much damage to the plant at all. He soothed it with a sprinkling of sugary lemonade, and watched as it stretched out wide to catch more of the mist.

“What?! They dared to say _that_ and you let them get away? I would’ve hexed them into next week in your place.” Pansy’s loud reaction broke through Draco’s concentration. He had almost forgotten the two witches were with him, their conversation blending into background noise as he worked.

“Wouldn’t that just prove them right?” Morana grumbled.

Pansy looked his way from their spot on the sun beds they demanded the House Elf drag into the greenhouse. Draco avoided her eye contact and busied himself with spraying the plants some more. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to contribute.

“No it doesn’t prove anything. Well, except that you might be easy to provoke.”

“I can’t stand them mocking me. I get so angry! But it’s not worth the house points.” Morana sighed.

“That’s true, I think Farley would have our heads if we didn’t win the cup just because we couldn’t take a couple uninspired insults from second year Gryffindors,” she joked. “That being said, fear can be useful, but it’s incredibly dull. And I’d rather be feared because of my excellent hexes, not just the house I was put in. Can you imagine Enid Howell or little Astoria doing anything evil? I’m assuming she’ll be in Slytherin, of course. Sometimes the fear I don’t mind, but the blatant favouritism... “

“No, I _do_ mind the fear. I wish we could make friends from other houses easier, without having to prove anything to them.”

“As if you’d try to make any friends! We had to practically force you and Perun to study and play with us. You’re not wrong, though… and you have to act nice as they keep testing you, because the moment you complain they assume you’re an awful Slytherin again! I don’t know how Ayame stays friends with Padma Patil.”

She had a point. Draco was reminded of the constant mistrust the Gryffindors showed him, despite his best efforts at keeping them alive last year. He supposed he might’ve been responsible for a portion of it (definitely more than just a portion in the past), but not all.

“What do you think, Draco?” Pansy turned to him again. Maybe it was the heat of the sun putting him in a foul mood, or their conversation a few days ago, but something dragged self-deprecating humour to the forefront. He’d be remiss not to share it.

“Since I’m really a son of a Death Eater, in my case they might have a point.”

“Oh, that’s utter tosh!” Pansy shouted, indignant. It was almost comforting, despite the fact she didn’t know the truth about him and his crimes.

Morana only knew of the war from stories, because her parents moved to England not long before it ended. Apparently they were escaping conflict between religious Muggles and their wizarding community - they had a much tougher time there whenever anyone broke their statute of secrecy. So she looked on, choosing not to comment. Perhaps she was just going back to her regular, rather quiet self. Draco wasn’t sure if he ever heard her say so many words in one conversation. These twins were the opposite of the Weasley busybodies, who loved to cause a scene wherever they went.

“We can’t pretend our parents’ reputations don’t precede ours.” He couldn’t stop himself in wallowing in self-pity about it, yet in Draco’s case it was more of an outcome predicted from the start. The Death Eater apple fell very close to the tree. He wished them to be wrong this time. Pansy didn’t seem impressed with his lack of agreement with her original point.

“Anyway, I don’t have to like, or tolerate it.”

“My family didn’t do anything, but my brother and I still only have Slytherin friends.” Morana joined back in.

“You have to admit the two of you are kind of standoffish when we don’t include you. Maybe you need a lesson on making friends?”

Her full cheeks coloured, and in a second they were arguing again, this time about Pansy’s inability to refrain from pointing out people’s flaws. If there was something Draco learned early on during their study groups, it was that Morana hated being teased. It seemed that Pansy refused to learn. There went another quarter hour. In the meantime, Draco carefully wrapped the cutting in gauze, and sprayed the plants some more. He could have sworn one of them stretched its leaves towards the bottle when he placed it down. He didn’t want to interrupt their discussion about just how outgoing and friendly the Burzynski twins were. Morana wouldn’t want to hear his thoughts anyway, she’s only be further upset if he joined in on the teasing.

“Okay… that’s my bad.” Pansy apologised half-heartedly. “I’m still angry at the other students, though.”

“Well, if I'm being honest, you do tend to get mean when talking to the more pathetic people from other houses.”

“So do you, Draco!”

“Yes, but unlike you I don’t care if I’m friends with them,” he shrugged.

“I’m just saying the truth. If they can’t handle it, it’s on them.” She argued, stubbornly. As if she didn’t just apologise to her friend about going overboard a moment before.

“Then why are you complaining in the first place?”

“You made me think about it!” She rose up, emotions clearly bubbling under the surface. “You put this thought in my head that I’ll regret acting like I do. And I’m annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Because you were right. I hate it when you’re right. I don’t just want to have everyone know me because they are upset or scared… I want them to understand me like you do, you don’t get upset when I’m a little sarcastic or mean, its good natured fun!”

“You have to choose your battles more carefully, Pansy. Figure out who can take it. And I suggest jinxing people less often… you really have to choose either bark or bite.” He said as he pulled the spray bottle sharply out of the grasp of a couple green tendrils.

Once the girls decided they had enough of his company for the day and relocated to Pansy’s for dinner, Draco scaled the staircases to their family owlery. With how many correspondents his father kept contact, it was a wonder they only kept a few owls, including Estienne. His own eagle owl measured him with a golden red stare, undoubtedly upset about the meagre offering of letters he had her deliver over summer. He’d been too busy, and together with seeing most of his friends in person, he just didn’t write as much as he used to. Nadia would have to forgive him, once he’s given her a reason to stretch her wings. He checked over the letter, making sure the plant cutting he collected was nestled safely within. He hoped the present wouldn’t arrive before the recipient discovered an interest in Herbology, or even worse made him dislike the subject entirely, but Draco couldn’t shake the idea since it popped into his brain at the start of summer.  
It was really less a letter and more a single sentence. Draco didn’t even sign it.

_**‘Happy Birthday, Longbottom’** _

It read. He watched Nadia happily fly over hedges and trees enchanted to hold out Muggles and uninvited guests from the Manor grounds. He absentmindedly wondered if Longbottom had brains enough to work out that he was the sender. Draco decided it would be good to stay on good terms, if only because Longbottom seemed to keep him on track to achieve these un-Slytherin goals for helping the Gryffindors before. He would need all the help he could get with those idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly beginning to realise the scope of this book... we're not done with Summer just yet!


End file.
